“Nothing but dead ends and non-starts. No missing persons that match her identity, no reports of abductions that fit her. I ran her first name and birthday through our system and came up with nothing. At least not around here. Unless she isn’t nine and the year is off, but it can’t be off by more than a year or two either way. Or . . . ”
“Or what?”
“Or Louisa isn’t her real name. Maybe she made it up, or it was her doll’s name or cat’s name, and since it was in her head, she assumed it was hers.”
“What about posting her picture?” Jim said. “You know, sending it out through your databases and networks, getting it on the news.”
“I already put it in the system. I’m not too hopeful about that, though. You know how many kids are reported missing every year?”
“It’s gotta be thousands.”
“Try hundreds of thousands.”
“So what about TV?”
“And have every pervert in a hundred-mile radius showing up to claim her as his long lost darling daughter? I don’t want to put her through that. Not like that.” He lifted a pen and scribbled something on a piece of paper. “I’ve been thinking; maybe it would do her good to talk to a psychologist. You know her better than anyone here; what do you think?”
“Honestly? I don’t like it. I don’t think she’s ready for someone to go probing around in her head, asking her a hundred questions she can’t answer. She’s a sweetheart, but she’s fragile, you know?”
“I figured you’d say that, so I took the liberty to talk to Dr. Willows, a child psychologist the county uses from time to time. She said there are two main reasons a child would get amnesia: physical trauma—blunt force to the head—or emotional trauma. She suffered no physical trauma that we know of, so we have to assume this is emotional. Something happened to that girl that she doesn’t want to remember, so she’s forgotten everything.”
“Which is why I want to take this gently. Whatever it is she’s going to remember isn’t going to be pleasant, and the remembering itself will be traumatic for her.”
Miller stroked his mustache and nodded. “Agreed. How about getting her out in public more, take her to the store, the gas station, the school. Maybe something will jog a memory, and that will kick in more memories. A domino thing. Kind of ease her into it. In fact, I can call the elementary school in Virginia Mills and arrange it so she can meet the kids during recess.”
Jim liked it. Meeting other kids might just be the catalyst to trigger a memory, a feeling, anything. Something to get the ball rolling. He had hoped that her remembering her birth date would trigger such a reaction, but it didn’t happen. “Yeah, okay, arrange it for this afternoon.”
“Great.” Miller scribbled more notes on his paper. “I think they have recess at two o’clock. I’ll double-check, let them know you’re coming, and give you a call back.”
“What if you never find her parents?” It was something Jim had wondered more and more about as time passed and there was no word on anyone looking for Louisa.
Miller shrugged. “Then she becomes a ward of the state, an orphan.”
“How much time do you allow to pass?”
Another shrug. “A lot. We’ll exhaust every avenue we have three or four times before giving up. Her parents may have been in an accident and are in some hospital in a coma right now. They may be dead. Or they may have abandoned her and fled to Canada or who knows where. If we can get to the bottom of who she is, then we can get somewhere. I won’t leave any stone unturned. But understand, in a case like this there may be family members that will want to take her in, aunts, uncles, grandparents, who knows.”
Miller’s comment about Louisa being taken in by family members triggered a wave of longing. Was he falling in love again with this new possibility of a daughter, only to have her ripped from his life?
“Spencer.”
Miller had said his name. Jim pulled himself from his thoughts, that weight of loss and sorrow still dangling from his neck. “Yeah?”
“Are you all square with that? It may be weeks, even months.”
“Uh, yeah, sure. Absolutely. As long as it takes.” May it take a lifetime, he prayed.
Chapter 24
OFFICER PEEVEY STEERED his cruiser into the gravel driveway outside Jude Fabry’s trailer. It wasn’t much to look at, but it wasn’t falling apart either. The aluminum skirting was all still in place, that was something, and it looked like Fabry had at least attempted to keep the lot clean and free of clutter. There was not a single upholstered chair or broken-down car in the front yard. He lived on a stretch of mostly abandoned road. Only a handful of trailers occupied cleared-acre lots. Behind them was woods, and across the road barren field ran all the way to the horizon.
Shutting off the engine, Peevey grabbed his steno pad from the passenger seat and exited the car. Gravel crunched under his feet as he made his way to the small front porch. Overhead the sky was gray and seemed to hover like a blanket about to fall and smother him. Peevey didn’t like interviewing people. He wasn’t a talker by nature and found most people to be anything but forthcoming with information.
He climbed the steps to the porch and rapped on the door, a flimsy, foam-core and plastic job. All was quiet inside. It was a little after noon, and he suspected Fabry was still sleeping off his buzz from early that morning. Again he knocked, this time harder.
Now he heard stirring inside, a grunt, then, “What?”
“Jude Fabry, it’s Officer Peevey, Rockingham County Police.”
“Ah. Okay. Just—just wait a sec.”
Peevey checked his watch out of habit. Inside he could hear shuffling, heavy footsteps moving away from the door and into a deeper part of the home.
He knocked again. “Mr. Fabry. Open the door. I need to talk to you.”
The footsteps moved closer. “I’m comin’.”
The door opened and Fabry was there, hair mussed, glasses tilted at a weird angle on his nose, eyes squinting into the daylight. Jude Fabry was not a young man, but neither was he old. With his leathery, sun-thickened, and creased skin, his yellowing eyes and raspy voice, it was difficult to put an age on him, but Peevey guessed he was in his late forties or early fifties.
The interior of the trailer was dark and hazy. The shades had been pulled to keep daylight out, either because it worsened Fabry’s hangover or because he’d rather live in darkness where the nicotine stains were concealed.
Fabry dragged the sleeve of his sweatshirt across his mouth. “Yeah?”
Peevey looked past Fabry and did a quick survey. “May I come in, Mr. Fabry?”
Fabry appeared uncomfortable, nervous. “Uh, yeah, sure. There a problem?”
Jude Fabry had moved into the area a little over a month ago. Gossip around town had it that he came from Ohio, where he caught his wife in bed with his brother. Not waiting for an explanation or an apology, he threw some clothes in a duffel and hightailed it out of town, drove all night until he found himself in Virginia Mills. Butch Oldroyd told Peevey that Fabry called him and offered to buy the trailer on the spot, with cash. A week later he’d landed a job at Fresh Valley Foods in Broadway.
Once Peevy was inside, Fabry closed the door and turned on a small table lamp that cast a tent of dirty light onto a dusty table. Old smoke hung in the air like a fog. The place reeked of used cigarettes.
“You want to sit?” Fabry said, motioning toward the sofa.
“Thanks, but I’ll stand.” Peevey opened his steno and removed the pen from his pocket.
Retrieving a cigarette from the coffee table, Fabry pushed it into his mouth. “You mind?”
“Actually, I do.”
Fabry pulled the cigarette out and tossed it back onto the table. He sat and grabbed at his hands. They were both trembling. Like most chain smokers, Fabry was thin and his muscles wiry. His movements were hesitating and anything but fluid.
“Mr. Fabry, where’d you go after work last night?”
Fabry looked up l
ike he was surprised Peevey would ask such a question. He scratched at the side of his nose. “Is somethin’ wrong?”
“Not yet. Where’d you go?”
“Uh . . . ” Fabry shifted his eyes over the floor, back and forth, as if searching for the answer in the fibers of the carpet. “I went to Cozy’s.”
“What time did you get there?”
Fabry blew out. “Jeez. I don’t know. I finished my shift at eleven, went to the bathroom, filled the truck at the station, had a bite to eat, then headed over. After midnight, I guess.”
“And what did you do there?”
He shrugged. “Downed a few beers. Why? That a crime?”
“Only if you drove home drunk.”
Fabry shook his head hard. “No way. I only had two beers. I did the hard stuff when I got back home here.”
“Are you hungover now?”
“Yeah. Pretty bad too.” He pointed at the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table. “Can’t I have just one?”
“I’d rather you didn’t. How long did you stay at Cozy’s?”
“I don’t know, a couple hours, I guess.”
“Do you know Billy Cousins, Mr. Fabry?”
“That loudmouth who comes in Cozy’s?”
“That’s the one.”
Fabry nodded and wiped at his mouth again. “You mind if I get a Coke? My mouth tastes like something crawled in it and died last night.”
“After you answer the question.”
“I know who Cousins is, yeah. Know the type too. Loudmouth punk. Can I get that Coke now?”
Peevey nodded. “Did you ever have any run-ins with Cousins?”
From the small kitchen area Fabry said, “’Bout a week ago. I was mindin’ my own business, you know?”
“At Cozy’s?”
“Yeah. Well, he comes over and asks for a smoke. I tell him to get lost.”
“And what happened?”
Fabry rounded the counter, can of Coke in his hand. He took a long swig. “Nothin’. He shot his mouth off some, cursed me pretty bad, but didn’t mess with me. He likes the sound of his own voice, makes him feel good about himself.”
“And that’s the only time you ever had contact with him?”
“Nope.” He took another drink of the soda and licked his lips.
Peevey shrugged. “You care to share what that means?”
“When I left Cozy’s, I noticed my front driver-side tire was flat. Didn’t think nothin’ of it at the time. Put the spare on and the next morning took it to Arnold’s for a new tire. Guy there said someone slit the old tire, that’s why it’d gone flat. I couldn’t have seen that in the dark.”
“And you think Cousins did it?”
Fabry shook his head, tightened his jaw. “Nope. I know it was him. Confronted him too. ’Course he denied it, got that big mouth of his goin’. What was I gonna do? I didn’t have no proof or nothin’ so I had to let it go.”
“Did you talk to Cousins last night?”
“Nah. Didn’t see him there.”
“Do you remember what time you left?”
Fabry rubbed his hands together then ran his fingers through his hair. “I guess it was around two. I think it was. Yeah, that sounds ’bout right.”
“And what did you do then?”
Fabry shot Peevey a wide-eyed look. “Why? What’s goin’ on? Why all these questions? What happened?”
“Where did you go when you left?”
“I came here, like I said. Had a few more drinks, maybe a bunch more, watched the TV ’til I fell asleep. Didn’t wake up ’til just now when you came knockin’.”
“Can anyone corroborate that? Did you call anyone? See anyone?”
“’Course not. It was two in the mornin’. What’s goin’ on? Some-thin’ happen to Cousins?”
Peevey glanced around the trailer. The furniture was old and well used, the carpet worn, but it looked clean and uncluttered. At least Fabry wasn’t dirty. He was a drunk, but he wasn’t a slob. “He was murdered outside Cozy’s last night, Mr. Fabry.”
Fabry nearly dropped his soda can. “Well, I’ll be—”
“Mr. Fabry, do you know anything about that?”
Fabry’s eyes were wide and his jaw hung nearly to his chest. “Wait a sec.” He looked around the room, scanned the floor again. “You think I had somethin’ to do with this? You think I killed him?”
“I don’t think anything. Not yet, anyway. I’m just asking questions.”
“Well, don’t ask no more,” Fabry said. “I ain’t got nothin’ to do with this.” He stood, still a little wobbly from his bingeing last night. “And I ain’t answerin’ no more questions. I can’t say he didn’t have it comin’. Lord, everyone knows he had it comin’, sooner or later. Man had more enemies than Hitler. But I didn’t do it.”
“Any ideas who did, then?”
Fabry rounded the coffee table and headed for the door. “You got a wife, girlfriend, Peevey? Maybe a sister?”
Peevey didn’t say anything. Fabry was agitated and hungover, and he’d let him have his say and leave. He’d gotten what he came for anyway.
Fabry opened the door and squinted at Peevey. “A girlfriend. I bet you got a sweet little girlfriend. Maybe she done it. Now I’ll ask you to leave my home.”
“Very well.” Peevey wanted to grab the drunk by his neck and pin him against the wall. Maybe take his baton to the back of Fabry’s legs. But he didn’t. The last thing he needed was for this piece of nothing to bring up accusations of brutality. As he left, he turned and nodded at Fabry. “Thanks for your time, Mr. Fabry. And just know, whoever murdered Cousins may be coming after you next. We’ll be watching you just in case.”
Chapter 25
THE CLOUDS HAD finally parted without giving up one drop of rain, and the sun hung high in the sky when Jim and Louisa walked onto the playground behind the Virginia Mills Elementary School. The playground was an open area backed by acres of fallow field, leaving the children and the school vulnerable to winds that blew across the landscape.
Recess was in full force when Jim and Louisa arrived, and children chased one another here and there, swung on swings, and huddled in small groups.
Two teachers stood duty over the children, standing close, talking intently to one another like two hens clucking out a continuous thread. They appeared barely aware of the near chaos playing out around them. When Jim approached, they both looked up. One, the taller and older of the two, smiled warmly and said, “Hi, you must be Jim Spencer and Louisa. I’m Mrs. Haversly, and this—” She motioned to the younger, shorter teacher, a woman with deep green eyes that bent into crescents when she smiled. “—is Mrs. Kellam.” She shook Jim’s hand then stuck out her hand to Louisa. “And you must be Louisa. I heard you were coming by to meet our children.”
Louisa took her hand and shook it but didn’t say anything. Jim wondered what she was thinking. On the way to the school he had explained where they were going and why. He figured she was an intelligent enough girl to understand the reasoning behind having her mingle with some children her own age. She seemed agreeable to it but not thrilled. He imagined in her own world—her family, her school, her church—that she was outgoing and friendly, but in a stranger’s world she tended to shy away from crowds, preferring one-on-one interactions.
Mrs. Kellam offered Louisa her hand too. “Louisa, I teach third grade here. You see that group of girls over there?” She pointed to seven girls huddled by the corner of the building. “They’re all third graders too. Why don’t you come with me, and I’ll introduce you.”
She took Louisa’s hand and led her away. Jim watched as they neared the group of girls and Mrs. Kellam made the introductions. The girls seemed to welcome Louisa openly, pulling her into their little circle.
“That seemed to go well,” Mrs. Haversly said. “Chief Miller filled me on what happened. Has she remembered anything at all?”
“Just her name and birthday, and we can’t even be sure they’re right. No way
to verify anything.”
Mrs. Kellam came back and, rubbing her arms, said, “I think she’ll be okay. That’s a nice group of girls.”
“Hopefully it triggers something for her,” Mrs. Haversly said. “Poor girl. Ripped from her family and stuck in a strange place with no memory. Must be terribly frightening for her.”
Jim watched Louisa interact with the girls as he small-talked with the two teachers. He noticed she kept glancing to her left and followed her eyes. There, in the breezeway between two wings of the building, sat a girl in a wheelchair, a blanket over her legs, reading a book.
“Who is that girl?” Jim said, motioning to the wheelchair-bound child.
“Audrey,” Mrs. Kellam said. “I told her she didn’t have to come outside, that it was too breezy, but she loves to read and watch the other kids play.”
Mrs. Haversly leaned in a little, as if sharing something secretive. “She has muscular dystrophy, poor child. She’s been in that chair most of her life and will never get out. Good mind, though, very smart girl.”
Again Jim watched as Louisa glanced at Audrey and finally pulled away from the huddle of girls and headed toward the breezeway and the girl in the wheelchair. The two teachers had their back to the school and didn’t notice what was unfolding.
“We have assistance for special needs children,” Mrs. Haversly said. “But Audrey’s parents don’t want her getting any special attention; they want her engaged with the other children. And Audrey seems to thrive here.”
“Do the kids accept her?” Jim asked, only half paying attention to Mrs. Haversly. His focus was on Louisa. She’d reached Audrey and stood beside her.
Mrs. Kellam cleared her throat. “At first they kept their distance. I don’t think they knew quite how to treat her, but when they saw she was just like them, with the same likes and interests, only she was bound to a wheelchair, they warmed up to her.”
Louisa knelt on the concrete next to Audrey’s wheelchair and placed one hand on the girl’s knee.
“It took some time,” Mrs. Haversly said, but Jim barely noticed her talking, so intent was he on what was transpiring in the breezeway. “But . . . ” Her voice faded away.
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